


Curiosity Killed the Katz

by Smallswritesstuff



Series: "Hey There, Soldier" [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus Hargreeves Being an Asshole, M/M, it's honestly insecurity but it manifests in a Gross way, meaning Sparrow Timeline, paradox psychosis, s3 proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smallswritesstuff/pseuds/Smallswritesstuff
Summary: 49 years post-mortem, Dave meets a German medium. Two years after that, things get complicated. S3 hypothetical.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Series: "Hey There, Soldier" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016610
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	Curiosity Killed the Katz

Time is fuzzy. Somewhere in there, Dave sees all the could-have-beens. He sees the war end. He sees Torres and Wilson make it home. He watches his kid sister grow up. He sees his bitter father and mother and uncle wither away in Dallas and thanks the stars that she made it out before she could get stuck there for life.

Nixon takes office. Then Ford. Then Carter. He knows the names but doesn’t bother to tune in for most of their terms. 

The next time Dave sees him, it’s 2017.

Dave wasn’t seeking him out. Sure, he had plenty of questions, but when he failed to spot him for a couple decades, he assumed it was a lost cause. Probably just another storefront “psychic” after all. And that’s definitely how he looks now. 

Dave is pulled into a dim room. Firelight dots the space from various mismatching candleholders. There’s some ornate furniture, but no prized antiques. A broken grandfather clock. A depressingly barren bookshelf. 

A blue light is being emitted from the circular table at center. On one side is an elderly woman, slow and frail, in a frayed cardigan.

On the other side, his upturned palms glowing, is Klaus. 

His eyes are lined in black and squeezed closed in concentration. His hair is shorter than it was before, chestnut curls bouncing slightly with the waves of energy coursing through the air. He wears a long flowing coat with a deep violet tunic underneath. When Dave steals a glance down the plunging neckline, he sees a collection of necklaces tangled together. Black string, wooden beads, a heart-shaped pendant, swaying back and forth on his chest. What Dave _doesn’t_ see is a set of dog tags.

When Klaus opens his eyes, they immediately land on Dave.

“Oh!” Klaus exclaims with a little smile, as though pleasantly surprised. “Wonderful. See that, Marie? Your dear Freddie is hanging in there just fine.”

Dave’s too taken aback to process those words. Klaus’s voice is definitely different. Still bright and sweet - fragile, in a way - but he has a new accent. It sounds somewhat German, though watered down with various other dialects, maybe some Irish and American. A tell-tale sign of a life lived on the road. 

His emerald eyes startle Dave. They don’t quite bury into his soul, like they seemed to in ‘63. They don’t know him as well. But they do seem a bit more restless. Wild.

The old woman is speaking up, voice shaking in bewilderment. “Oh. Ah... That’s not Frederick.”

Klaus droops his head at her in disappointment. “No?” He looks back to Dave, brow furrowed. “Sky Soldiers, right?”

“Um. Yeah,” Dave replies. Does this guy really not recognize him? “‘Til February ‘68.”

Klaus nods. “Alright, we can work with this. Could you be a doll and grab a Mister Frederick Walsh for me?”

Well. Dave does remember a Walsh. “Sure. I’ll try.” 

Klaus pulls a sugary smile. It’s enough to give you a cavity. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Dave disappears from the pair’s vision, quickly replaced by Frederick. Blood drips from the soldier’s skull. Shitty way to go, but it must’ve at least been quick. He and the woman collapse into immediate hysterics upon seeing each other, crying over poems they mailed to each other in 1960-whatever. Dave can tell it’s going to take a while. 

Klaus knows this too. This whole ordeal must be routine for him. He crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. He’s patient and lets the happy couple do their thing. But Dave can’t help but notice the way Klaus continually drums his fingers against his arm throughout.  
  
  
**…  
  
  
  
**After Frederick’s connection is cut and the customer has left, overjoyed and weepy and walking out with a few tender “God bless you”s, Klaus wanders about the shop, collecting his things into a patched satchel and extinguishing the candles. He switches off the front lights, opens the front door, and steps out into the peach-colored evening. The sidewalk is slick with the afternoon’s rainfall. 

Dave follows. On his way out, he sees the tacky unlit neon signage of the shop. It’s a humble-sized space, sandwiched tightly between a boutique and a deli on the slanted street.

Dave ensures he’s only visible to Klaus and jogs up to him before he can lose his nerve. Klaus has lit a cigarette in the time he’s lost. 

“I remember you,” Dave says. “You came and talked to me. A lifetime ago.”

The medium smirks at the ground as he walks. Doesn’t even look up. “That some sort of a pick-up line, soldier?”

“U- um.” Dave stammers. “No. David J. Katz. You don’t remember me?”

“I generally try not to.” Klaus looks at him. “Don’t take it personal, you’re definitely one of the more gentlemanly ghosts I’ve met. It’s just that I can only invest so much in the bitching and moaning of the dead before I’d need to be committed to a padded room.” He takes a drag, really takes his time with it, and puffs it towards Dave’s face. Dave barely flinches, knowing he doesn’t need to breathe. 

Klaus smiles dreamily in self-amusement. “I should thank you, though. I thought for sure Granny was about to call my bluff. Thank Christ I was able to channel you before she demanded her money back.”

“But that’s your job, isn’t it?” Dave throws a thumb back toward the storefront. “Right? Contacting ghosts?”

“In theory,” Klaus sighs, almost annoyed by that perfectly logical conclusion. “Had a pretty good run of fame after coming out as one of those magic space kiddos. Did some talk shows, did some touring, conjured Ellen’s grandma, banged John Edward, yadda-yadda.” He gestures carelessly with his cigarette and dashes a bit of ash off the end of it. “Americans go nuts for that kind of stuff, so they dragged me here. And all that junk blew over a while ago. But you wanna know my dirty little secret, D Cat?” 

“Dave Katz,” Dave corrects, uselessly.

“Pesky thing only works when I’m sober,” Klaus reveals. “Other times, you just gotta fake-til-you-make.” 

So Dave’s suspicion was right. He’d recognized the way Klaus twitched from a few of his buddies on long nights on guard, without a minute to duck away and get their fix. Though Klaus didn’t seem to be as severe a case as some of them. 

Klaus finishes another drag as they round a corner. “Anyway, hope that clears things up. Feel free to leak the big scandal. I doubt the dead will give a shit, and if my guy doesn’t stand me up again tonight, I’ll be too high to hear ‘em scream anyway.”

“Wait, Klaus.” Dave interjects, putting his foot down. “I want to talk to you.” 

Klaus seems startled by his name. He squints at Dave.

Dave doesn’t get it. This _had_ to be the guy he saw that week. The eccentric spiritual leader who didn’t even believe his own bullshit back then. The kind man with the dog tags around his neck and the saddest green eyes, pleading Dave to not sacrifice himself. 

But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that Klaus wasn’t real, or maybe it was his ancestor, or maybe he had a run-in with a fellow Magic Space Baby with the power to skip around the multiverse. Dave has no idea what to make of the incident in ‘63, and he doesn’t think he will anytime soon. Here he is, a spectre on the street, still reeling from the fact that a living person is actually talking to him. 

There is still so much he doesn’t understand about the beautiful, deeply haunted stranger in front of him. But he thinks he wants to try. 

And considering Klaus hasn’t cast him away yet - shooed him, cussed him out, muttered an incantation, covered himself in salt, whatever - Dave thinks _he_ might want to understand, too. 

“You have my attention, Davey,” Klaus says, a little sing-songy.

And Dave knows he does. 

**…**

**2019**

**…**

Dave has hardly ever complained about their apartment. And since Klaus has taken stab after stab at recovery for the past few months, Dave has been corporeal for bouts of time long enough to have a valid opinion on the carpets, the furniture, and the temperature when they forget to pay the damn heating bill. 

But some mornings like this one, when he’s laying on the bed, just trying to finish a chapter of _The White Plague,_ he could swear the walls are made of tissue paper.

Two or three voices chatter in the hallway. Dave can hardly make out what they’re saying, but it’s enough of a distraction for him to close his book in defeat and stare at the ceiling to wait them out. 

_“...for the millionth time, you imbecile, we can’t be…”_

_“...about it, Five, this is…”_

_“...already itching! Do you…”_

Klaus’s voice suddenly cuts through. “...and if Diego and Vanny got to go see their goth band, then I should…” 

Diego? Vanny? 

“What was that, darlin’?” Dave calls toward the bathroom door. 

The howling of Klaus’s hair dryer stops. “What?”

“Didn’t you say something?”

“Yeah, I said ‘what’.”

The hair dryer immediately starts up again. Dave snorts. Must’ve been someone outside with a similar tone.

Dave is able to tune them out for the next few minutes, until the doorbell buzzes. By that time, Klaus is fully dressed, sitting hand-in-hand with Dave, asking about his nerd book.

“I got it,” he says, placing a light kiss on Dave’s knuckles. He walks out into the living room and closes the door behind him. 

It’s probably a package delivery or something. Dave doesn’t know who of Klaus’s friends or clients would drop in unannounced like this. Which is why it’s surprising that the interaction isn’t over in twenty seconds. 

He stands and hovers by the door to see what he can hear. Oddly enough, it’s the same voices that made such an anxious racket in the hallway. 

“...But there _is_ a timeline where you got adopted by Reginald Hargreeves.” It sounds like a shy woman. “And that’s where we’re from.” 

“Vanya and I just figure, if anyone can help us navigate a temporal disaster, it’s Reggie’s other leftovers,” explains a smart-ass teenager.

“Slow dowwwwn, kid,” Klaus chuckles. “I’m just a strip mall psychic here. You might want to set your sights elsewhere.”

Dave can’t contain his curiosity. He gently opens the door and slips into the living room.

By the front door are three figures. One is a small woman with a dark brown ponytail. One is, as he suspected, a snarky-looking teen, wearing a blazer. It’s a little like those Sparrow Academy uniforms, but with a different crest. 

Dave can hardly trust his sight when he sees the third visitor. 

He’s a carbon copy of his boyfriend. With a few key differences. His hair is longer, though neater. He wears a loose striped blouse over a pair of leather pants and sneakers.

He seems... heavier. His stance is firmer. His hands hang at his side. His expression is alert, but his face is fatigued.

And his eyes. His eyes carry so much more sadness. 

When he turns to see who’s entered the room, Dave hears a faint jingle. His eyes fall to a glint of silver around his neck.

World-Weary Klaus locks eyes with him and freezes. The sudden stiffening of his body silences his friends in concern.

His tongue meets his teeth to begin a name, but he can’t get it out. 

_Dave._

Dave feels horribly vulnerable. Oblivious. Monstrous for having no idea what’s so wrong. 

The woman - Vanya - is staring at Dave too, now. Then, clarity flashes over her face. She taps the boy’s shoulder. “Five, you can take this. Me and Klaus are gonna go wait in the hall.”

Five nods, trusting the tension in her voice. “You do that.”

Their Klaus - Hargreeves? - doesn’t seem to hear this exchange. His gaze keeps drifting between his doppelgänger and Dave. 

Vanya takes his arm. “C’mon, we don’t need some kind of Psychosis to—”

Hargreeves resists, gently jerking out of her grasp. “No, I’m good, I’m good.” His accent is distinctly American. His attention settles on Dave. “Did you remember me? From the store, and the mansion, and...? Is that how...?”

Dave wants to give him a satisfying answer, he really does, but he’s still struggling to wrap his mind around the whole situation. How long has it been for Hargreeves? Was he actually the man he met in the sixties? How is he a separate being from His Klaus? 

And why does he look so utterly heartbroken? 

Dave hesitates and hates himself for it.

Vanya gives Hargreeves another tug. “Klaus, let’s just go—”

“I’m not going.” The jerk is harder this time, his voice edging on breaking. He sets a glare on Dave’s Klaus. “What the hell is this? What did you do?”

Dave’s Klaus seems just as lost as Dave is. “What do you mean, what did I do?”

“You bastard,” Hargreeves practically growls, “What did you do to Dave? Why is he here?”

It’s like a shot in the chest all over again. But Dave’s frightened of Hargreeves’s reaction if he speaks up himself. 

“He... lives here?” His Klaus offers as coolly as he can. “Maybe not ‘lives’, per se. Un-dies here?”

Hargreeves isn’t amused, staring steadily as he wipes his brow with his HELLO hand.

“He’s skipping stages,” Five mutters.

“I thought there had to be seven,” Vanya whispers back.

“Not quite a paradox,” Five explains, “But still not quite normal.”

“Why?” Hargreeves demands, continuing to filter out everything except the two men in front of him. “Why is it you?”

Dave’s Klaus holds up his hands in defense. “Okay, easy, easy...”

Hargreeves steps forward. “Don’t you dare tell me ‘easy’. You don’t know me.”

“Apparently, I _am_ you, jackass,” Klaus shoots back. 

“No you’re not,” Hargreeves laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “No-no-no-no-no. You’re a pathetic, self-centered dick.” He snarls with bitterness. “I know how hard you crave, baby. I feel it every goddamn day. And I know how easy you cave. Just throw every cent for another lousy hit. Think I don’t recognize it?”

Klaus shifts, itching at his forearm. “You shut up.”

“You think I can’t guess how lonely you get?” Hargreeves nearly taunts. “How you’ve burned every single bridge you’ve ever danced your sorry ass across? How you won’t give nobody the time of day unless there’s a dollar sign attached? Or food? Booze? Sex?”

“I said shut up,” Klaus warns.

“You are not me,” Hargreeves restates. “You _were_ me. And I have gone through hell and back for the last four years to get away from being you.” His harsh laugh returns. He swings his arms out in presentation. “But now here you are! And here _he_ is.”

Hargreeves makes a rough gesture towards Dave. “And you think for a goddamn second you _deserve_ him?”

“Klaus, _stop_.” It falls out of Dave’s mouth before he can think. 

Hargreeves’s hands fly to grip at the sides of his head, as if that one little sound resonated like a clap of thunder. It’s too much. From trapped within his sweat-dampened hair, Hargreeves’s fingers burn electric blue.

“Why the _hell_ is it you?”

The air hums. Then it mumbles. Then it screams. 

It’s nothing that Dave has ever heard before. A thousand voices singing. Or sobbing. It’s hard to tell. But it’s sick, it’s spiteful, and it’s so painfully loud.

Hargreeves looks like he’s losing control, collapsing in on himself and unaware of what exactly he’s brought on. His eyes flit upwards. They’re glowing in a piercing shade of sapphire. 

Five hurries forward and tackles Hargreeves to the ground.

He trashes against him, blue glow brightening. “Let go of me, you prick!”

Five eventually pins him in one spot, and with a rattle and a flash, the two instantly disappear from the room. 

The noise immediately dies away. 

Dave’s Klaus launches forward for the front door, probably looking to chase after that freak with his same face. Vanya blocks him.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Five warned us something like this would happen.”

“Oh, that my stick-up-the-ass twin would just drop out of the sky one day and shower me and my boyfriend with his psychotic ravings?” Klaus muses sarcastically. He attempts to push past her, and she shoves back.

“He’s my brother,” she states solidly. “And he didn’t really mean that. Just like you don’t really want to murder him right now.”

“Wanna bet?”

“It’s complicated.” Vanya comes off overwhelmed. “It’s all so, _so_ complicated. But Five needs to talk to you. Just ten, fifteen minutes. We could really use your help.”

“Then you’re leaning on the wrong medium, sis,” Klaus answers. “You all can get out of my life now. Thanks for stopping by.”

Klaus turns and storms out, back into the bedroom, and slams the door.

Vanya looks to Dave. He’s not sure which of them feels more helpless. 

“Sorry about that,” Dave murmurs awkwardly. 

“No, no, I’m sorry for you,” Vanya replies. “You’ve got to be so lost. Klaus - my brother - he isn’t like this, like, ever.”

Dave thinks he knows that. The pieces are starting to come together now. Granted, the painting that the completed puzzle reveals still isn’t terribly sensical, but it’ll probably clear up with time. 

“It’s okay,” he assures her. He indicates the bedroom door. “I’m sure once he calms down, he’ll just be thrilled to talk to folks born like him.”

“That’s great,” Vanya agrees. “All six of us have it, and trust me. We know how tough it is to handle alone.” She glances to the front door, then back. “I guess I ought to go find them, wherever they’ve zapped off to.”

“I’ll try to talk him down,” Dave says. An idea strikes him. He grabs a pencil and one of Klaus’s sketchbooks off the coffee table. “You know, I’ll see if he can meet you and the kid tomorrow. Maybe... at two?”

Vanya shrugs. “As long as he needs. We’ll take any help we can get.”

Dave scrawls out the name and address of a diner down the road. “Gabriel’s, then. Just a few blocks away.” He tears the page out and hands it to Vanya. “I’ll make sure he gets there.”

Vanya tucks the note into her pocket. “Perfect. Thanks, uh...”

“Dave.”

“I know,” Vanya says. She immediately winces at herself. “Sorry, it’s just...“ She cuts off her own thought and extends a hand. “Vanya.”

They shake and say their last little goodbyes. Vanya closes the door, and the silence swallows Dave right up. 

He fiddles with the pencil between two fingers. Gabriel’s Diner. Two o’clock. He pictures the unlikely trio sitting in a plush booth against pastel-painted walls, discussing the disruption of the space-time continuum over an untouched platter of French fries.

The image shifts in his head. The memory is suddenly back, as clear today as it was when he was just some clueless kid on a bus, about to change the course of his life forever.

And it finally clicks. 

  
  


_“Because I love you.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“And I know there’s a day you’ll love me too.”_

  
  


Dave lets out a sigh and sits on the couch, hanging his head.

Turns out Klaus Hargreeves was right after all. Just not in the way he thought.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i haven't seen it, but im like 98% sure that someone has already written a version of this concept that ends with porn instead.


End file.
